


Yours

by quartetship



Series: Number Seven [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheerleader!Jean, Continuation, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Jock!Marco, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm still your cheerleader," Jean insisted. "I'm your <i>whatever you want me to be,</i> Marco. I'm <i>yours."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Part three of the Number Seven series. :) 
> 
> A very belated birthday gift for Iris, as well as a thank you for everyone who helped me deal with the plagiarism incident from earlier this week. How about some _real_ Number Seven stuff to celebrate?
> 
> This one shot is also part (Day Six!) of my multi-au 30 Day NSFW Challenge, the rest of which can be found on [my tumblr](http://quartetship.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> Final note: This piece begins with a flashback, so hopefully that's not too confusing!
> 
> \--

Staring. Smiling. Sneaking glances at each other. That infamous game at which Marco tripped and literally rolled over Thomas, and Jean nearly dropped Krista because his attention was elsewhere...  
  
Figuring out feelings in high school is always an adventure, especially when you're doing it in front of thousands of spectators, every Friday night. Nothing was quite so effective at moving things forward as the three hour bus ride to an away game a few weeks into their junior year, Jean arriving so late he almost missed it, and ending up collapsing breathlessly into the only available seat - the one right next to Marco. It was a little awkward at first, owing to the fact that they didn't really know much about each other, aside from _'shit, he's hot'._ But an hour in, they were talking and laughing, and even the other cheerleaders noticed that Jean was smiling more than usual.  
  
The ride back after a win was wonderfully noisy, and no one noticed the boys in the back, trading phone numbers and sheepish grins. No one paid attention when Marco slid his arm across Jean's shoulders to _'grab something from Mina',_ and then never bothered to remove it again. No one saw them linger behind the parked bus that evening before leaving for home, eyes mostly on the ground before Jean mustered up the courage to lean up for a kiss. No one knew they were together, for almost a year after that.

But _they_ knew.  
  
Football season and the rest of junior year was holding hands under blankets on the bus, kissing each other breathless under bleachers and in deserted locker rooms, and discovering what they wanted, what they liked - in each other. Senior year was more; it was letting their secret out, letting people see how happy they were together, it was making love and meaning it, murmuring praises and making up nicknames and all the sickeningly sweet things that made them everyone's favorite couple on the football field. It was the beat season either of them had ever had.  
  
And at the end of November, it was _over._   
  
\--  
  
 _"Marco?"_   
  
Marco reentered reality as it was, Jean sitting stretched across his lap. His eyes were glassed over, distant; Jean's were narrowed with concern as he prodded at Marco's shoulder.  
  
"What's wrong, babe?" He'd paused the movie they were watching, set his drink aside; all of his attention was on Marco.  
  
Marco fidgeted under it. "Nothing."  
  
"Right." Jean rolled his eyes and shifted in Marco's lap. "M'not stupid, y'know."  
  
"No, you're not. I probably am, though."  
  
Jean shook his head, curling himself up and tossing a leg over each side of Marco's lap, so that he was right in Marco's face. Still, despite his insistence, his face was soft, affectionate. "What's _wrong?"_   
  
"It's... I was just _thinking."_ Marco sighed. "About last year."  
  
Jean grinned on reflex. "What about it?"  
  
"When we got together. Thinkin' about how football season's over for good now, and--" Marco worried his lip for a moment, looking anywhere other than back at Jean, directly. "Well I guess you're not _my_ cheerleader, anymore."  
  
"What? Marco, that's stupid."  
  
Marco winced. "I know, but I just - it's basketball season now, and then we're graduating and I'm just kinda bummed that I'll never get to have you cheering for me anymore."  
  
"Baby..." Jean straddled Marco's hips, pushed up on his knees far enough that he had to lean down to press their foreheads together. "You may be done with high school football, but that doesn't mean _we're_ done."  
  
"I know, I didn't mean--"  
  
"And I'm still your cheerleader," Jean insisted. "I'm your _whatever you want me to be,_ Marco. I'm _yours."_   
  
Marco nodded, humming as he let Jean press a soft kiss to his lips. _"Mm_ \- love you. Sorry. Sometimes I just get a little..." He buried his face in one palm, shaking his head against it before dragging it down his face. Jean dropped his chin onto Marco's head and squeezed him.  
  
"Happens. Love you too, by the way." He leaned in for another kiss, toying with Marco's bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to give him a dangerous looking grin. "Side note - is your jersey clean?"  
  
Marco nodded, slowly. "Uh, yeah, I think so. Probably hanging up somewhere. My closet or wherever. Why?"  
  
"Wanna _show_ you somethin'."  
  
Jean leaned down for one more kiss, nipping at Marco's neck for a moment before pushing himself entirely off of the couch and onto his feet. He raised a finger to tell Marco to wait where he was, and then disappeared from the room, leaving Marco to listen to the sounds of him shuffling through hangers before he apparently found what he was looking for.  
  
Marco patted his legs, fidgeting. "You just gonna leave me in here alone all night, or..?"  
  
"I'm comin', I'm comin', chill out." Jean's voiced was raised so that Marco could hear it, but it didn't entirely muffle what sounded like clothing hitting the floor. Marco swallowed hard, thanking every star he could see through the living room window that his parents weren't due back until morning. Finally, he heard footsteps, and Jean returned.  
  
"So - whatcha think?"  
  
He was wearing Marco's jersey, the way he usually did after games or during school on pep rally days. But he wasn't wearing his usual warm up gear underneath it. Or anything at all, save for a pair of boxer briefs that might as well have been painted on. He grinned and stepped out in front of Marco, hands on his hips. Marco sucked in a breath and held it, blinking.  
  
"Wha-- I... _holy shit,_ baby."  
  
"Yeah?" Jean's grin widened and he turned, letting Marco see him from every angle. "Told you I was yours. Still am, always gonna be." He got caught up for a moment, showing off; he didn't notice Marco wasn't speaking - was hardly even _breathing_ \- until he turned back around to face him again. He waved a hand in front of his face.  
  
"You okay, there?"  
  
Marco shook his head, returning to some semblance of presence. _"God, yes_ \- Jean, I--" He patted his leg, fumbling to reach into his pocket. "Can... c-can I take _pictures?"_   
  
"If you promise they won't end up on Facebook," Jean laughed, maybe just a little flustered under Marco's ravenous stare. "Or seen by your mom."  
  
"Keep 'em secret, keep 'em safe," Marco agreed with a grin, and pulled out his phone.  
  
He stood for a moment, glancing around like he was trying to decide exactly which angle to look at Jean from. Ultimately he seemed to decide on _all of them,_ because the next few minutes found him walking in circles, biting back moans and sighing reverently at the sight of Jean putting on a show for him. He probably used up about half his phone's memory card, just appreciating the appealing contrast of the oversized jersey against the snug fit of Jean's underwear, that left absolutely _nothing_ to Marco's imagination. Not that he couldn't have employed his memory of what Jean looked like _without_ them, if he'd needed to.  
  
"You look so good, baby." He dropped his phone back onto the couch, forgotten as he sat back down to take in the living, breathing sight right in front of him. He raked a hand through his hair, breathing deeply and trying to stave off his obvious blush. Jean grinned and sauntered over to stand between his parted knees.  
  
"Didn't know this would work for you so much, or I'd have done it months ago."  
  
"Kinda glad you didn't, though." Marco reached out to run hands over Jean's hips, down his legs before returning to squeeze gently at his absolutely _flawless_ ass. "I don't think I'm gonna make it through the night if you stay like this much longer."  
  
"Just tryna make you smile, babe." Jean smirked and dropped himself onto one of Marco's knees, almost _purring_ at the way Marco's hand came out to catch him as he did. He ran an open palm down Marco's side, down his leg, letting his fingers wander teasingly over the bulge already straining beneath his zipper.  
  
"Mission accomplished," Marco hummed. "And I thought you looked good in _your_ uniform."  
  
"All for you, babe." Jean shifted his leg to press against Marco, replacing his hand as he slipped it up under Marco's shirt. "That's why I wear those pants you like to the games you come to, y'know." He swirled fingers through the thick, dark curls just above the waistband of Marco's pants, dipping beneath the fabric just enough to make Marco squirm. "S'not like I care what the basketball team thinks. What, you think I'm in it for _Bert?_ I'll let Reiner handle that one."  
  
"He does," Marco deadpanned, even as he dropped his head to rest against Jean's shoulder and gave a shaky sigh. "Trust me. I have to hear about it. _Frequently."_   
  
"Locker room talk?" Jean smirked, circling his hips in Marco's lap until he could hear a telltale rumbling in his chest. "What d'you tell 'em about us?"  
  
Marco shrugged, still keeping his face out of view. "I like to keep that kinda thing to myself, for the most part."  
  
"For the _most part?"_   
  
Marco nodded into Jean's shoulder. "Well, I... might have let slip that you're really good at... _what you do."_   
  
"Damn right, I am." He grinned. He could tell he didn't have Marco quite as worked up as he wanted him, hard-on or not. Marco was notoriously tight lipped, bordering on shy about all things sexual - until he was half out of his mind with lust.  
  
He clearly still had work to do.  
  
Jean wriggled out of Marco's lap and onto his feet, turning as he reached his arms toward the ceiling, making absolutely sure Marco could see all of him.  
  
"W-where're you goin'?" Marco stammered, mind obviously more than a little clouded.  
  
"Just stretching." Jean smirked, rounding the back of the couch and dropping onto his elbows across the back of it. "You comin'?"  
  
Marco laughed. "Am I supposed to?" He stood, but only lazily meandered after Jean. Jean pouted theatrically.  
  
"Thought you wanted me?"  
  
Marco smiled, even as he rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah. But I'm not gonna _chase_ you."  
  
 _"Yeah?"_ Jean quirked an eyebrow, turning so that Marco could enjoy his rear view. He hooked fingers under the waistband of his underwear, swaying slightly as he slowly worked them off. He held them up triumphantly for a moment afterward, before throwing them in Marco's direction and wandering down the hall toward Marco's bedroom, dragging his hand along the wall as he walked. He waited for Marco to follow, but when he finally heard footsteps, they came quick, and Marco was behind him before he could even turn back to face him.  
  
 _"Yeah,"_ Marco laughed - low and rough - and pressed Jean hard against the wall.  
  
"Umph! No fair."  
  
"Says you, tease." Marco propped himself on his hands against the wall, pushing back just enough to get a better look at Jean. "Damn you look good with my name on your back."  
  
Jean glanced over his shoulder and smirked. He had to admit - it _did_ look good on his back. And for the briefest moment, he entertained the idea of how good it might look on his skin, on his left hand, tacked onto the end of his own last name. But those were thoughts for another day. As things were, Marco was pinning him to the wall just the way he liked, hand coming down to tease the sensitive skin of his stomach and hips before his fingers wrapped tightly around the base of Jean's hard cock.  
  
There would be time to think later.  
  
As it was, Marco was twisting his hand just right, slow and firm and almost maddening. Jean tried to thrust into the tight ring of his fingers, tried to find the friction he wanted more of, but Marco held him in place, taking his time. He slid a finger over the tip, through the slickness beginning to drip down Jean's length, and hummed as Jean backed into him, legs wiggling apart to push back further.  
  
"Who wants who now?" Marco teased, peppering kisses down Jean's neck. Jean rolled his hips and caught Marco right where he wanted him, his hard dick pressing perfectly into the cleft of Jean's ass, even through the sheath of his pants. He reached down to pop the button and push them down, and Jean gave a shaky laugh as he saw them go flying down the hall out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"I dunno," he grinned. "You seem pretty eager."  
  
"Not sure how I wouldn't be, with you waving _this_ in my face." He returned his attention to stroking Jean's cock, swirling his thumb through wetness just to watch the way he jumped. Jean didn't disappoint.  
  
"F-fuck, baby - gonna make me come all over the damned wall." He arched back again, groaning at how much more of Marco he could feel, with his pants finally gone. Marco laughed under his labored breath, pressing Jean closer to the wall and shamelessly letting the precome dripping over both of them fall there.  
  
"It'll wash."  
  
Jean hissed, glancing down at the mess they were making and trying not to come just from the _sight_ of it. He rocked his hips back with renewed fervor, Marco finally giving in and grinding his own forward, breathing stuttered curses across Jean's ear. It was the beginning of dizzy and desperate, but still _so fucking sweet_ \- not yet the wanton mess Jean wanted to make of him. He wanted screaming, scratching, biting, _blazing_ need. Still more work to do.

He took advantage of Marco's moment of shuddering weakness to turn under him, nearly jumping into his arms once they were face to face. One arm braced around Jean's thigh, Marco let the other one return to what he was doing, pumping Jean faster, until he was shaking in Marco's arms. His other arm fell away to prop them against the wall, but Jean tightened his hold around Marco's neck and whimpered.  
  
"Can't stay up like this much longer." He panted into Marco's ear, voice cracking at another well placed turn of the wrist. "I'm fucking falling apart."  
  
"Then let go," Marco breathed. "S'okay; I won't let you fall."  
  
Jean did as he was told, letting his arms slip from Marco's shoulders and his back press hard against the wall. Marco caught his thighs and held them, steadying him until his feet were on the floor again. But his legs were shaky beneath him, and he gave in to the need to slide down the wall. He held Marco's hands as he went, a slow slide until his feet slipped from under him and he hit the floor with a thump.  
  
Above him, Marco bit back a grin. Jean twisted his mouth to one side, glaring up at him before grabbing his hands again and pulling him onto the floor as well.  
  
"Happy now?" Marco laughed, sitting upright. Jean crawled into his lap, pushing him backward until his back met the cool hardwood floor.  
  
"Not yet." He sat up on his knees, not even bothering to slide Marco's boxers out of the way as he bent down to mouth at his obvious arousal. He slid his tongue over the small patch of wetness forming in the fabric, his hot breath making Marco shiver beautifully. Jean slid fingers into the opening of the shorts, and pulled Marco's dick from its confines in one rough tug. Marco sighed - and then _yelped_ as Jean wasted no time taking him into his mouth.  
  
"You don't mess around, do you babe?" He carded fingers through Jean's hair, no doubt enjoying the way he was absolutely destroying the work Jean had done to it earlier. He twisted fingers through it and pulled, just enough to pulled Jean off his cock with a slick pop. Jean moaned, eyes shuttered closed; it took him a moment to collect himself enough to answer.  
  
"Not when your dick is involved," he smirked, tongue sliding across his lips. "And it's definitely involved right now."  
  
"I can s-see that," Marco said, stuttering as Jean's mouth found him again. He swirled his tongue over the head, quick to find the spot just beneath it that drove Marco insane. Carefully, he dragged his _teeth_ over the skin there, letting wetness trail messily down Marco's length and sliding fingers through it as he stroked what he couldn't fit between his lips. Marco bucked wildly up into his mouth. "Better slow down though, baby. Gonna m-make me come already."

  
Jean sat up with a smirk, squeezing at the base of Marco's cock. "Probably shouldn't _make a mess_ all over the floor."  
  
"Mm. Probably not." Marco was collected again, but still panting as he stared up at Jean. He dragged a hand lazily down his back, pulling him down for a kiss - and then flipped them over in one smooth motion, hauling Jean off of the floor and up over his shoulder. "So let's move this elsewhere."  
  
Jean fucking _loved_ being picked up. He'd never told anyone - even Marco. But he had strong evidence to suggest that Marco was well aware. He always melted into a pliant mess the moment his feet left the ground, and Marco's strength made it one of his favorite 'Jean cheat codes' to use.  
  
He dropped Jean onto his bed with a heavy thump, stepping back to look at him as he crawled toward the pillows. "Now - where were we?"  
  
 _"Right here,"_ Jean whined, rolling his bare hips backward to arch his ass into the air. Marco bit down hard on the side of his hand, trying and failing to keep from groaning.  
  
"Damn it, Jean." He moved to stand behind him, hands coming down to roam reverently over Jean's back. "Don't even wanna give me a minute to think, do you?"  
  
"Don't need it," Jean panted over his shoulder. "You get too serious when you think. All I need you thinking about right now is fucking me through this mattress."  
  
Marco poked his tongue between his teeth and smiled wickedly. _"Gladly."_   
  
Jean crawled to the other side of his bed expectantly, waiting as Marco lifted the corner of his mattress to retrieve a condom and lubricant from his stash. He tossed the bottle at Jean to hold while he shoved the rest of the mess back between his box springs and wiggled out of his boxers. By the time he looked up again, Jean was already slicking one of his fingers, making a show of turning to be sure Marco could see him slide it in slow circles over his entrance.  
  
"That's how it's gonna be, huh?" Marco reached down to tug at his cock, just watching Jean work for a moment.  
  
"You were taking too long," Jean smirked, letting his eyes flutter closed as he quickened his movements. He wasn't alone for long, though. Beside him, the bed dipped as Marco crawled across it. His eyes were dark, almost _predatory_ as they roamed over Jean.

  
_Finally._   
  
"Why don't you let _me_ handle that?" He snatched the bottle from beside Jean's leg, brushing his hand aside as he pressed his teeth into the dip where Jean's back became his ass. "Think you'd have more fun that way."  
  
"Mm - as long as you promise to _keep_ handling it." Jean smiled lecherously and wiggled his hips invitingly in Marco's direction. Marco wasted no time slicking his fingers and sidling up beside him.  
  
Jean had never been able to be quiet when Marco was sliding into him, even if it was only his fingers. He keened loudly, biting his bottom lip until it showed the first signs of bruising, fingers scratching at the blankets around him to steady trembling legs. But he'd also learned fairly quickly not to be too embarrassed about it. Marco clearly loved every noisy minute.  
  
"Ready for more, baby?" He rasped against Jean's ear as he crooked his first finger, brushing against Jean's sweet spot just enough to pull a trembling moan out of him. Jean nodded and turned to look over his shoulder, catching Marco's lips in a messy kiss as Marco slid another finger into him.  
  
Jean's hips snapped back of their own accord, Jean himself whining at the _perfect_ stretch of Marco's fingers working him open. He mumbled a request for more, drinking in the sounds of Marco's deep, quiet laughter as he gave him what he wanted.  
  
"Three fingers still aren't gonna spread you open like I will, baby." He twisted them, Jean writhing under his touch. "You think you're ready for it? You seemed liked it earlier, ass in the air. So needy..."  
  
"M'ready," Jean nodded, only then noticing that his lips had gone slick with the beginnings of drool. He wiped an arm across his sweat damp face and moved to sit up on his knees, head rolling back to land on Marco's shoulder. "I'm ready, Marco. _Please."_   
  
Marco nipped at the shell of his ear - licking his way down the side of Jean's face until their lips met again - and lingered there, until Jean whined again, louder.  
  
He smacked at the bed beside them with his free hand, the other still working in and out of Jean in slow, steady movements. When his fingers found the condom packet he stopped for a moment, deciding to tear it open one-handed rather than miss a moment of contact with Jean. Jean groaned his appreciation and pressed back against Marco's hand. He couldn't wait long, though.  
  
"C'mon, babe." Jean shivered. "Want _you. All_ of you. Been _waiting,_ baby - come _on."_ He wiggled away from Marco's fingers, sighing as they slid wetly from him. He looked over his shoulder, chest heaving and eyes blown wide to match Marco's. _"Come on."_   
  
Marco slid the condom on and slicked himself with another generous smear of lube before lining himself up with Jean's entrance. He hissed through gritted teeth as he pressed into him, fingers digging hard into Jean's hips to keep from railing into him right away. Jean spread his thighs wider, letting himself adjust for a bare second before rocking back to take Marco's cock deeper.  
  
"So damned tight," Marco groaned. "Even after taking half my hand. You look so good - always so good for me, baby."  
  
"You're good," Jean gasped, circling his hips against Marco to find the same angle again. "So fucking big - love the way you fill me up."  
  
"Good, 'cause I don't wanna stop." Marco took the hint, angling his hips to aim for the spot he knew would have Jean _begging._ And it didn't take long, with Jean wiggling helpfully; when Marco found it again, he dissolved into a mess of stuttering pleas.  
  
 _"Don't_ \- please don't stop, Marco - _please."_   
  
Marco was more than happy to oblige. He raked nails down Jean's back, hissing along with Jean at the beautiful red scratches they left behind. Their pace picking up into a steady rhythm, he palmed at Jean's ass against him, sliding fingers down to trace over his slick entrance, to feel the way it stretched around him.  
  
"Jean - look so pretty, baby. So damn perfect."  
  
Jean whimpered, babbling blissed-out nonsense in response. He didn't even _know_ any other languages, but he definitely wasn't speaking English anymore. The only word he managed between Marco's hard, perfectly aimed thrusts was something that sounded like _"yours"._   
  
Marco moaned, bucking wildly against him. "C'mon, baby - say it for me. Say it again. Whose are you?"  
  
 _"Yours!"_ Jean screamed, hand coming down hard in a fist against the mattress. "Yours, _yoursyoursyours!"_   
  
He could feel the searing drag of nails down his back once more, and then a sharp slap to his ass, before Marco palmed soothingly over the stinging skin. "That's right, baby. _Mmmgod_ – you're fucking _gorgeous._ You feel good, baby? S'this what you wanted? This what you like?"  
  
He didn't really have to answer - Marco fucking _knew_ just what he liked. He always did what Jean liked, _was_ what Jean liked, in every sense of the word. But Marco also liked listening to Jean beg, watching him squirm until he was nearly sobbing, and Jean was more than happy to give his boyfriend exactly that.  
  
Words failing him, all he could manage was a broken, whimpering chant of _"uh-huh",_ taking everything Marco was giving him and nodding deliriously as he whined for more. But Marco stilled for a moment, sliding out of him and leaving Jean desperately clawing at the sheets, begging without words. But before he could figure out how to make words again, Marco was flipping him over like a rag doll, nudging his legs apart again and pulling him to the edge of the bed by his ankles.  
  
"Look at me, baby," he commanded, and locked eyes with Jean as he lined them up again and rolled back into him with a pair of hard thrusts. "Wanna see you when you come for me."  
  
He set a blistering pace then, _ramming_ into him as Jean wound his legs around his waist, pulling them impossibly close with every snap of Marco's hips. He ran his hands across Jean's tense stomach, scratching up to his chest and teasing his thumbs over sensitive nipples. Jean mewled and nodded blindly, still not letting his unfocused eyes fall from Marco's.  
  
Marco leaned down to press their foreheads together, eyes still burning into Jean as he panted, rhythm erratic. He slid arms under Jean's to steady himself against him, then hooked them and lifted Jean off the bed entirely. Jean locked his ankles tighter behind his waist as Marco continued slamming into him, crying out between every perfect thrust. Even on shaking legs, Marco held him effortlessly. Jean finally broke eye contact long enough to tighten his arms around Marco's neck, sinking teeth and nails into him at once as he tried to warn Marco of the fact that he was teetering on the edge. But Marco nudged his face back up to catch his lips, and then his eyes again as he murmured mindlessly.

  
_"Yes,_ come for me, baby, c'mon. _Never_ wanna stop, Jean - want you like this forever, can't stop, can't _ahhh_ \- love you so much, baby. _Mine, mine, mine..."_   
  
And that was it. Jean's body jolted against Marco's, trembling so hard he lost his grip on shaking shoulders. He dropped back onto the bed, Marco still rutting unevenly into him as he shuddered, feeling tighter tighter tighter, from his chest down to where he was stretched around Marco's dick. He gave a choked shout of Marco's name, and then he was streaked with heat - hot, blissful tears, sweat, and come that managed to make it as far as his chin. Marco growled above him, pace gone shaky as he followed him over the edge, bucking into him and slurring a few more love-drunk praises as he fell.  
  
When his arms gave out, Marco collapsed forward onto Jean, Jean's hands scrambling across his back and shoulders, holding him as tight against him as possible. They lay that way, searching for a rhythm in their breathing, until Jean found his voice again and hummed, pressing his lips against Marco's sweat slicked forehead.  
  
"You okay, baby?"  
  
Marco glanced up at him and nodded, not bothering to raise up otherwise. "Mhm. Are _you_ okay?" He dragged a line of kisses lazily up Jean's jaw, stopping at his ear to whisper. "You looked pretty wrecked there at the end."  
  
"I _feel_ pretty wrecked," Jean snorted, scratching fingers through soft, dark hair. "S'good, though. You were amazing, number seven."  
  
Marco pulled their bodies apart with a sated sigh, tossing the condom away before settling back on top of Jean with a huff. He dropped his face into the crook of Jean's neck, mumbling against flushed skin. "M'not number seven anymore, baby. 'M just Marco, now."  
  
Jean pried him away, wiggling them both until he could look his boyfriend in the eye properly. _"Just_ Marco? What the hell does that mean?"  
  
"I'm just... nothing special. Without a number behind my name, I'm just me." He tried to bury his face against Jean's shoulder again, but Jean held him in place, staring.  
  
"Babe - _sweetheart_ \- do you honestly think that football was what made you special?" It took Jean a moment to continue, trying not to let emotion close his throat off entirely. "Baby, you're amazing. Every day, all the time. I mean, thank _god_ you played football, because I might not have met you otherwise. But... you're worth more than your number. You're more than this fucking _jersey,_ baby."  
  
Marco was silent for a moment, then nodded against the side of Jean's face, pressing a kiss there before pushing up onto his still-weak arms. "Thanks, love. I adore you, you know." He scattered a few more kisses across Jean's face, and pushed himself all the way back onto his knees. "Oh - uh, speaking of my jersey..."  
  
Jean leaned up onto his elbows and glanced downward. Marco's jersey was soaked, in every possible way. Wet with sweat and streaked with come that was apparently also on the pillows and sheets around them; they groaned at once, but it quickly fizzled into a fit of laughter.  
  
"You got it everywhere, babe." Marco bit his lip to try and stop himself laughing. "I'm gonna have so much laundry to do."  
  
"Hey - your fault, sir. You're the one who insisted on pounding it outta me."  
  
"As I recall, you were literally asking for it." Marco laughed. "You get to help me clean all this up."  
  
"Yeah, whatever," Jean sighed, pulling Marco back down for a hug. Marco was less enthused once he'd realized how much of a mess Jean was making of them both, but Jean tugged insistently until he flopped back down anyway. "This is really _your_ mess."  
  
"I'll gladly take credit for the mess," Marco said, only rolling his eyes a little. "As long as I get to keep what's underneath it."  
  
Jean grinned. "What, the jersey? Yeah, man. S'all yours." Marco swatted his hip, leaning down to press his teeth teasingly at Jean's collarbone.  
  
"I meant _you,_ dumb ass." He sucked lazily at the spot beneath his lips, raising his head to admire it beginning to bruise. Jean snickered, then buried his face in Marco's hair and inhaled the momentary peace - before they'd have to peel apart and start cleaning up - closing his eyes with a contented sigh.  
  
"Like I said, baby," he breathed, laying Marco's hand over his still wildly beating heart. _"All yours._ So, uh - how 'bout a shower after you throw this stuff in the washer?"  
  
"Yeah, alright," Marco said, pushing himself up and pulling Jean after him. "But I'm only doing _one_ load tonight. So no more messes on my bed."  
  
Jean grinned back at him and peeled off the jersey, tossing into onto the bed with the loosened sheets and making his way toward the bathroom.  
  
"Whatever you say, number seven. Plenty more rooms in this house."


End file.
